


The Hardest Hue to Hold

by oceantears



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Midas, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), Insecurity, M/M, Midas, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved Crowley (Good Omens), gold - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27272365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceantears/pseuds/oceantears
Summary: Crowley has fallen in love and would very much like to show the man in question so.Too bad he can’t touch him unless he wants to turn Aziraphale into a solid block of gold.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been sitting on my laptop for more than a year now. I've got two thirds of this fanfic done, which means that it will probably be updated pretty regularly.
> 
> The first few chapters are a bit rusty (especially the first one), but I promise they get better the more the story progresses. I'd appreciate it if you gave this story a chance even though it's not the best first chapter. :)
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this! If you've got any questions about the mythology this AU is based on, feel free to comment!
> 
> Enjoy!!

A golden apple flew through the air before falling down again, landing in Crowley’s right hand with a slight splat. The demon tossed it up again, catching it seconds later in his other hand.

Crowley was bored – he had been at this game for a while now and there were only so many times one could throw an apple in the air without it getting boring. And he had to head out, either way – he was in dire need of another pair of pants. Or two.

Crowley sighed and sat up, catching the apple while doing so. He better leave now, before he went crazy with boredom. He put the small fruit in a basket filled to the brim with other apples – a reminder of his proudest achievement as a demon - and went to change his clothes. He had to be prepared, after all.

Ten minutes later, Crowley stood in front of his mirror, checking if he had covered himself up completely. He was wearing tight black pants that reached his ankles, his most comfortable pair of shoes and a long-sleeved t-shirt although it was positively sweltering outside.

The look was finished off by his usual pair of dark sunglasses, and his black gloves, which reached his elbows. Crowley slowly turned to ensure that he was not exposing any skin and would therefore not endanger any humans or animals, before tying his hair back into a bun. He didn’t exactly know whether his hair had the power to turn people as well (he knew it couldn’t turn objects and plants) but he also had no interest in finding out, which was why he kept it tied back whenever he left his flat. 

Satisfied with his outfit and the protection it provided, Crowley took his golden keys from the – also golden – countertop and headed out the door. But not before performing a small miracle to ensure that he wouldn’t die in the heat outside with all his layers.

\----- 

The district Crowley’s flat was in was usually a quiet one, with few people wandering the streets, which was why the demon had chosen it. Now, however he needed to leave his comfortable, people-free comfort zone in order to _go shopping_. If there was one thing in this world Crowley despised, it was shopping. Too many people all around, pushing and shoving their way through the aisles, and too many weird stares he attracted. 

Although the shopping centre wasn’t exactly around the corner, Crowley preferred to walk instead of taking the underground, much for the same reasons he loathed shopping. Walking was better than being penned in in a metal box with people all around him, but it also meant that there were more people who could stare or point at him and his outfit. 

For a while Crowley had tried to pretend that he only attracted all their attention because of his good looks, but this lie had quickly grown boring. At least by now he had learned to ignore the human’s curiosity and their wide-eyed stares. Most of the time. 

After fifteen excruciating minutes of being stared at and whispered about, Crowley had finally reached the – thankfully air-conditioned – mall. Not even a demonic miracle could keep _all_ of the summer heat out, apparently. 

He located the Men’s section quickly enough, shooing some annoyingly helpful sales assistants away. He didn’t need help, thank you very much. Crowley was millennia old and could find his own skinny jeans just fine.

The aisle was almost deserted, save for a man standing at the far end of it. Normally Crowley would have performed a quick miracle to keep the shopper away from him – he did like his peace and quiet while picking out clothes – but the man was so far away that the demon could not even make out his facial features, so he figured that he would probably be fine. 

Crowley sifted through the racks quickly, hanging the pants he liked over his arm. He didn’t need to try them on – they would fit him anyways, no matter what size they actually were. Crowley planned on taking at least five pairs with him, in order to delay his next shopping trip for as long as possible. He concentrated on choosing the jeans that would last the longest, reading the labels on each of them carefully. And apparently, he concentrated enough not to notice that the other man had approached him, now standing just a meter away from him. 

Crowley jumped when the man cleared his throat next to him. He nearly let his pants drop as he turned around, trying to regain his composure. The first thing Crowley noticed was that the other was standing _way too close_. There was decidedly not enough space between them for Crowley to feel comfortable and the demon took a quick step back, clutching his jeans protectively in front of his chest.

The second thing he noticed was the sheer amount of ugly, tartan sweaters the shopper was holding in his arms. They were _hideous_ , and Crowley couldn’t help but feel thankful that the man wasn’t wearing one. Instead, he was dressed in a suit that had probably gone out of fashion in the eighteen-hundreds, as far as Crowley was concerned. And that was what finally prompted Crowley to look the man in the face. Because he only knew _one_ person who would ever wear such old-fashioned clothes.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Crowley had hissed that sentence, still not quite recovered from the shock the man had given him. The shock _Aziraphale_ had given him. The man in question just smiled at him, holding up the pile of monstrosities.

“Shopping. Much like you are doing, I suppose.”

Crowley resisted the temptation of throwing the pants at Aziraphale and his unfairly pretty grin. _Of course_ he had run into him of all people. Crowley had met Aziraphale for the first time a year ago, when he had clashed into him in the streets. That day, he had lost one of his gloves, sending him into a spiral of panic. The demon had tried to go home as fast as he possibly could, and by consequence, he had not paid attention to his surroundings. That hadn’t paid off well, seeing as he had knocked someone over and was not even able to help the man up, seeing as he could not touch him with his right hand. Crowley had just stood over the man and cradled his ungloved hand to his chest, all the while apologising profusely. 

Luckily, the stranger had laughed and dismissed Crowley’s apologies with a wave of his hand. As soon as Crowley had been assured that the man wasn’t seriously injured, he had taken off again with a hasty goodbye, his right hand now firmly stuffed in his pocket.

Crowley had soon forgotten the incident, too relieved to find another pair of suitable gloves at home with which he could protect his hands (and the people around him). But after that first incident, the demon had started seeing the other man more and more often, almost wherever he went. 

After the sixth time of spotting the stranger, Crowley had started suspecting that maybe he was a demon sent from Hell to keep an eye on him. But after seeing how the man – Aziraphale, as he would later learn – interacted with people, helping whomever he could, Crowley had quickly dismissed that possibility. 

After all, the man was only a stranger Crowley bumped into now and then. A stranger whom he had once lent money to in a coffee shop, when Aziraphale had forgotten his wallet at home. A stranger, whom Crowley had once given his pie to in a cafe (only because Aziraphale had looked utterly crushed when he had went into the cafe only to find all seats already taken and because Crowley himself couldn’t eat it either way and had only bought it out of politeness). A stranger, who had a really nice laugh, dressed like he belonged in the eighteenth century and had a strange affinity to books and tartan sweaters. A stranger, who Crowley may or may not have developed a ~~huge~~ small crush on.

A stranger, whom Crowley was now standing in front of in a clothing store, during a shopping spree which he had not wanted to be interrupted.

For once, Crowley wished he could simply take off his sunglasses so Aziraphale could see his impressive glare. But since Crowley’s eyes were just as golden as everything he touched, he couldn’t and had to settle for glaring at Aziraphale while his eyes were covered. Aziraphale didn’t seem bothered by it, seeing as he was still smiling pleasantly.

“What a coincidence! I didn’t think I would run into you in a clothing store, of all things.”

“Well, I need clothes just like everyone else does, so I can’t quite see why you’d be surprised by that.”

Aziraphale seemed unbothered by Crowley’s remark and just continued smiling. Slowly, it was becoming ~~damn adorable~~ slightly irritating.

“Well, since we’re both already here, would you like to join me for a coffee afterwards? I know an incredibly good cafe just around the corner.”

It was a rather daring, forward offer, considering that they had only spoken to each other a handful of times, just enough to exchange names and have basic small talk. Their longest conversation had happened after Crowley had given Aziraphale his piece of pie, and even then, it had barely been fifteen minutes of polite (and interesting) conversation, nothing ground-breaking.

They really didn’t know each other, Crowley was aware of that, but apparently that had neither stopped him from developing a crush on a virtual stranger, nor did it stop Aziraphale from inviting him to grab some coffee.

Crowley wanted to say no. He wanted to decline and flee, walk right back to his flat and never leave again, never see Aziraphale and his stupid, hopeful smile again. But for some reason, his tongue would not cooperate. Instead of the scathing “no” that should have come out, Crowley found himself nodding and _smiling_. Agreeing. And that was the reason why fifteen minutes later, Crowley was sitting in a small cafe opposite to Aziraphale, both their bags of clothing next to their table. In front of them was a piece of delicious-looking cake, which Aziraphale enjoyed a lot, if his blissful smile was anything to go by.

Crowley himself would have loved to try the food, but couldn’t. Thanks to the gloves he would at least have been able to pick it up but that was of no use since the bite of pie would only turn into a lump of gold in his mouth as soon as it touched his tongue. And gold was not all that pleasant to eat. Crowley had had to once, in the seventh century when he had been forced to dine with the current king, and it had been one of the most unpleasant experiences in his life. 

Luckily, Crowley didn’t need to eat to survive, with him being a demon and whatnot, but at times like these, with the smell of delicious tea and pie in the air, he did wish he could at least take a bite. Just a small one, just to see what it tasted like.

But he couldn’t, and so he resigned himself to watching Aziraphale eat, shaking his head whenever the man offered him a bite or a sip of his tea. Luckily, Aziraphale finished quickly and leaned back with a small smile on his face. 

“That was simply delicious, my dear. Too bad you aren’t that fond of pie. Maybe next time we could go somewhere they offer savoury food as well? If I had known you didn’t enjoy sweets I wouldn’t even had proposed this place, of course. But there’s that lovely little restaurant not far away from here-“

Crowley found it hard to concentrate on what Aziraphale was saying next, his mind still focussed on _”next time”_. The other man wanted to meet him another time? Why?

The other times they had met they hadn’t interacted much; in fact this meeting was probably the first one that had lasted longer than fifteen minutes. But even though Crowley had not anticipated it, the thought of another meeting was not at all unpleasant. He did want to get to know Aziraphale better. After all, running into him that many times in a place as big as London could not have been pure coincidence. He’d like to spend more time with Aziraphale, try to get to know him better. If only it weren’t to eat...

“Or maybe,” he interrupted the other, who was still talking about the food the restaurant offered, “we could take a walk through the park? Feed the ducks?”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Crowley blushed. Feeding ducks, Satan, what was he thinking? Granted, he did enjoy feeding or at least watching them, but that did not mean Aziraphale would even remotely like this plan, too. And Crowley _wanted_ him to like what he proposed, he _wanted_ them to meet up another time.

He was just about to retract his question, a blush rising on his cheeks, when Aziraphale spoke up, grinning widely.

“That would be marvellous! I do enjoy feeding the ducks and the park is just such a lovely place to walk through. When would you have time to meet up?”

Crowley was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open. What. What? Aziraphale actually liked his suggestion? He cleared his throat to stall for time while he collected his thoughts in order to form a sentence that wasn’t complete garbage.

“I, uh. I don’t have anything planned for the next week, so maybe... next week?”

Crowley grimaced. He should have proposed a later date – now he would look eager, too eager, and that might just scare Aziraphale off. And the demon really, really did not want that to happen – he wanted to meet Aziraphale again and again and again, he wanted to get to know the man better.

“Next week sounds perfect! What about Monday, eleven o’clock?”

Once more, Crowley was caught off-guard. He nodded hastily, agreeing to the meeting point Aziraphale suggested; still busy processing how smoothly this whole interaction had gone.

They had planned _another meeting_. Aziraphale had asked for another meeting, and now Crowley had something to look forward to in the next week. He would _meet Aziraphale again_ , get to know him better, maybe. He could scarcely believe it.

A small cough from Aziraphale brought Crowley’s attention back to the present. The man was smiling at him (and did he ever stop smiling? He was like a fucking ray of sunshine that man), pointing at the last remaining bit of pie.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try it? It really is delicious.”

Crowley shook his head, his insides clenching. The cake _did_ look delicious and Aziraphale looked so hopeful and Crowley really would have loved to try it, at least a bite of it, but he knew he couldn’t. 

Not for the first time that day, Crowley cursed Heaven’s twisted sense of humour. When he had Fallen, the agonising pain that had come with the Fall hadn’t been enough, apparently. No, the Almighty - or whoever was thinking up these downright devilish plans - had felt it was necessary to punish Crowley _more_. And therefore, he now was unable to touch anything at all, without it turning into solid gold. 

It made Crowley’s life a hell of a lot harder that was for sure. It had taken him centuries to find a way to enchant his clothes in such a way that they wouldn’t turn into gold as soon as they touched his body. Sadly, this was incredibly exhausting and had only worked with certain articles of clothing so far. 

If Crowley attempted to touch anything else – food, cutlery, a book, plants, animals, humans – anything _at all_ , it would turn to gold underneath his hands. His “gift” as another demon had once called it could effectively kill people with less than a handshake. The only thing that prevented Crowley from leaving a trail of gold and misery wherever he went were a pair of enchanted gloves and the rest of his modified clothes. 

The demon would forever be grateful that he had found a way to hide his hands. It definitely made living so much easier, even if he didn’t wear them when he was alone in his flat, which had led to almost everything he possessed being turned into gold over time. But it was better than never being able to touch anything at all. 

Still, Crowley was extremely careful with what – or rather who – he touched. He found himself avoiding people as often as possible; he didn’t like being handed things and refused most handshakes. The fear of essentially killing people with a touch was too deeply ingrained in him, so he rarely touched anyone, even with the gloves.

The only problem was that over time, Crowley had started yearning for touch. After one century or so it had gotten progressively harder to live without any touch at all. Sometimes, when Crowley slept (which was rare because it was neither comfortable to sleep in a bed fully made of gold, nor was it comfortable to sleep with jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt and gloves) he dreamt of brushing up against people, of holding hands with someone, even of hugging someone. (Over the past few months, this ‘someone’ had been Aziraphale more often than not, but no one needed to know that. The man was essentially still a stranger to Crowley, after all.)

Speaking of Aziraphale, Crowley noticed that the human had started putting on his scarf, which was thankfully not as ugly as the sweaters he had purchased. He gave an apologetic smile.

“I am afraid I must already be leaving, my dear. My superiors have a job for me I need to take care of and sadly it cannot be postponed. But I enjoyed our meeting a lot and I am looking forward to our next one.”

With that he picked up his bag, watching as Crowley stood up too, still a bit surprised by Aziraphale’s sudden goodbye.

Crowley shook his head with a small grin as the other gave him another apologetic look.

“It’s no problem. I have to go anyways; I still have... things to do. But I enjoyed the evening as well. Thank you.”

At that Aziraphale smiled again, a large smile unlike any Crowley had previously seen on him.

“I am happy to hear that. Where are you headed? Would you like to walk with me for a bit?”

And because Crowley was stupid and (possibly) a bit in love, he nodded. 

It was worth it, he thought as he held the door open for Aziraphale. They would meet again on Monday and it would be good. Crowley wouldn’t fuck this next meeting up if he prepared sufficiently, and maybe, just maybe, there would be another one after that.

Crowley smiled as he stepped out of the café, following Aziraphale. He was already looking forward to next Monday and whatever would come after that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind comments! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Once Crowley came home an hour later, he promptly removed his glasses and gloves and miracled himself into more comfortable clothes. Then, he stretched out on his sofa (gold) and rested his feet on his coffee table (also gold).

Today had been exhausting. Oh, he had definitely enjoyed the chat with Aziraphale, but he wasn’t used to so much interaction with anyone, really. He mostly kept to himself, his only visitors ever being some of his superior demons, who came every now and then to check up on him. Luckily, Crowley’s “gift” meant that he wasn’t all too good at temptation and doing evil deeds, since both of those were a bit hard to do when one couldn’t touch anything.

Therefore, his superiors had sent him on earth, where he was supposed to utilise his gift as effectively as possible. Which, to them meant that he should tempt humans to sin and then touch them to transform them into gold, thus killing them. To Crowley it meant to touch and turn some old human statues he had collected over the years, just before a visit by his superiors was due. The good thing with gold was that no one could really tell if the piece of gold in front of them had once been alive or not. Except for Crowley.

And since he wasn’t one to enjoy murdering people, he had taken to transforming those stone statues and passing them off as sinners. So far, it had worked out excellently, although that might just have been due to the fact that no demon really cared about what Crowley was doing on Earth.

He was just fine with that. It meant a lot less hassle for him. 

Crowley yawned and stretched on the sofa, turning to his side to face the mirror that hung on the wall of his living room.

A pair of golden eyes stared right back at him – a tribute to the curse Heaven had put on him. They looked unnatural, shimmering golden irises split by long, dark pupils. Crowley despised them. They were the reason he wore his dark sunglasses whenever possible, not just outdoors. Not only did it mean that he was less likely to scare humans, but it also meant that Crowley himself didn’t have to be reminded of his curse every time he looked in the mirror.

For a second, he entertained the thought of showing Aziraphale his eyes one day. He thought about how Aziraphale would react – with shock and abject horror most likely, but for now, Crowley imagined the man telling him that his eyes were lovely, _pretty_ even. After a few more seconds of wishful thinking, Crowley dismissed the thought again, sitting up from the sofa.

It was to no use – he could and would not show his eyes to Aziraphale. If he were to do so, it meant that he had to explain why they were golden, which also meant that he had to tell the human about his curse and consequently about being a demon. And _that_ was a conversation Crowley really didn’t want to have.

He doubted that he and Aziraphale would get much closer anyways. How could they, with Crowley being so closed-off and unable to even touch the other?

Theoretically, Crowley knew that he could touch Aziraphale as long as he was wearing his gloves. But even those did not help with the panic the demon felt whenever he was forced to touch anyone. Crowley still held his breath when he accidentally brushed up against someone or had to shake a human’s hand. Too vivid were the memories of the first few hundred years after his Fall – the first time he had turned someone to gold, still unaware of his curse. And then afterwards years upon years of loneliness, when he hadn’t found a way to appropriately modify his clothing yet and had kept to himself out of fear of harming animals or humans. 

And even after he had conjured his first pair of gloves that would actually protect people from him, he had still been terrified whenever he had to touch anyone or anything. Now, in the twenty-first century things had slowly become easier, but Crowley still felt fear whenever he came too close to human or animal. 

He was careful – too careful maybe – not to accidentally turn someone, and it had worked perfectly since the fifth century, but Crowley’s constant wariness had taken a toll on him. He hadn’t really touched anyone for centuries (not counting quick handshakes or arms accidentally brushing up against another), and though he had more or less gotten used to it, there still were times when he desperately yearned for someone to simply _touch_.

He didn’t need much – laying his hand on someone’s shoulder for just a few seconds would be enough, he told himself. Leaning against ~~Aziraphale~~ a human, resting his head on ~~Aziraphale’s~~ someone’s shoulder, hugging ~~him~~ them. Oh Satan, _hugging_ someone would probably just cause Crowley to break down. It would be fantastic, a relief to be able to just bring his arms up around someone, _holding_ them...

Crowley shook his head harshly, chasing the thoughts away. He scratched his arms which had started itching as they always did when he thought of touching someone, and got up, getting rid of those half-formed fantasies. He should not have indulged in such dreams, he thought miserably. His arms kept itching, an itch he couldn’t scratch, no matter how hard he tried. 

The demon stepped out of the living room, walking to the far end of his hallway and came to a halt in front of a heavily locked, white door. The door was one of the very few things that weren’t golden in his flat and Crowley was quite proud of that. He put his gloves back on before he fished a key ring out of his pocket and made to open three different locks. 

The door swung open with a small squeak. Crowley closed it carefully behind him, setting the keys on a table next to him. 

The room in front of him was larger than it should have been, considering that the house his flat was located in was definitely not big enough for it. It was painted white (and Crowley had not once had to repaint it – something he was also proud of), and the room was filled to the brim with a multitude of plants, only leaving a small strip of space to walk through them. There were huge windows all around the room, letting in the sun and causing the plants’ shadows to throw beautiful pattern against the walls and floor.

After quickly scanning the room for any obvious changes, Crowley picked up a spray bottle from the table and walked up to the plants while removing his right glove, the bottle held securely in his left.

“Hello,” he said to the plant closest to him – a tall, green fern that trembled as the demon approached it. Crowley checked it over for any signs of damage or bugs, satisfied to find none. He gave the plant a sharp grin.

“Very well.” 

Then, he sprayed some water over it, which the plant accepted gratefully. Crowley resumed his slow walk through his own, private garden. Over the years, he had collected the most beautiful plants from all over the world, tending to them (read: threatening them) and making sure that they always looked their best (read: threatening them).

Today seemed to be a good day for his plants. Crowley had almost finished with his inspection when he noticed that a small basswood he had only acquired a month ago was trembling – far more than it should have been.

Crowley crouched down next to it, looking it over.

“Well, what do we have here? Are you afraid of me, little one? Do you have reason to be?”

Crowley imagined that the plant was shaking its head at him – a lie, obviously. He clicked his tongue. Carefully, he parted the tree’s leaves with his gloved hand, looking for any blemishes.

And indeed! Right in front of him there was a small brown spot, no bigger than his fingerprint, on an otherwise perfect green leaf.

Crowley frowned.

“Did you think you could hide that, little one?” His voice was soft ,but the tree trembled, nevertheless. Crowley shook his head, his voice softening even further.

“Don’t you ever think you can hide from me. None of you,” he made a gesture with his arm, encompassing the whole room, “none of you can hide from me. Do you understand?”

The basswood shook harder. Crowley stroked its leaves with his left hand, smiling.

“You know what happens now, don’t you?” he whispered. He didn’t wait for an answer, instead picking the small tree up, holding it so that all his other plants could see their trembling friend well.

Then, Crowley extended his right, ungloved hand and touched a single of the trembling plant’s leaves. Instantly, the tree stopped shaking, its leaves turning into gold, hardening, the bark following suit. Within a few seconds, Crowley was holding a considerably heavier, golden tree in his hand. He smiled, showing it to his other plants, who had shrunken away from him in fear.

“There,” he said. “Take it as a warning.”

And with that, he left the room, carrying the golden basswood with him. Sometimes, his curse _did_ have its perks.

\----

Whenever Crowley had to transform a misbehaving plant, he either left it in his plant-room, as a warning for his other plants, or he ended up selling it. Today, he had decided on selling the traitorous tree.

Crowley had two people he occasionally sold his... creations to – a jeweller and a priest. He had gotten to know the priest a few years ago, when he had just been on his way to the aforementioned jeweller who usually bought his gilded plants. The man had stopped Crowley and asked him where he had gotten the plant from, explaining to the demon that he was working on recreating the Garden of Eden as he imagined it. And wouldn’t some golden plants make a wonderful addition? The priest had offered Crowley what most humans would probably consider a hefty amount of money in exchange for as many golden plants as Crowley was willing to sell him. 

Crowley had agreed – not because he needed the money, but because he found the thought of a _priest_ buying and displaying things that had come from a demon’s hand amusing. 

And therefore, there now were two people Crowley could sell his plant to. Today, he decided on the jeweller – he was a nice old man whom Crowley occasionally gave a plant to for free. He didn’t need the money anyways.

Crowley put on his glove and sunglasses again, getting ready to visit the jeweller. The man would be happy, he thought. The basswood had once been quite beautiful, after all.

\----

Crowley left the jeweller’s store with a spring to his steps. The man mostly used his plants to decorate his shop and display, since it increased the number of customers. He had been overjoyed when Crowley had sold him the plant, even offering the demon more money than Crowley had asked for initially. Crowley had refused, claiming it to be an old piece he had had in his collection for years and grown tired of. (He had told both the priest and the jeweller that he was a collector specialised on gilded plants. It had become a useful - and apparently surprisingly believable, considering how absolutely terrible it was - lie, over the years.)

He was just a few streets away from his flat when the thought that while he was out, he might as well buy a gift for Aziraphale crossed his mind. He was looking forward to their meeting - even if he had to be patient for another two days – and wanted to give Aziraphale a present. After all, the other man had agreed to go to the park with Crowley instead of going to a restaurant, like Aziraphale had originally wanted to.

Crowley took a turn to the left, entering a small gift shop he had discovered a few months ago. It was mostly empty, and the demon took his time browsing the shelves. He ignored the books and picture frames – really, who gave someone a _picture frame_ \- and moved on to one of the many shelves full of small porcelain figurines. The shop had at least a hundred of them, Crowley estimated as he put down the fifth porcelain ballerina. 

He was just about to leave the shop - a bit frustrated after picking up the ninth clown - when his eyes fell on a figurine at the far end of the last shelf. It was a small angel, just as big as Crowley’s palm, its wings about as long as one of his fingers outstretched. It looked ridiculous, but for some reason, Crowley felt that it would fit Aziraphale perfectly. He didn’t quite know why but he had a feeling that the man would enjoy a small figurine of an angel.

After he had paid for it, he made his way home, walking quickly. He had decided that he would modify it – after all, a golden angel was prettier than a completely white one. And it would make the gift more unique, too.

Crowley smiled and clutched the bag with his gift in it harder. He had a feeling that Aziraphale would enjoy it.


	3. Chapter 3

On Monday, Crowley awoke much earlier than usually. He sometimes allowed himself to sleep the whole weekend and had figured that a bit of rest before his ~~date~~ meeting with Aziraphale couldn’t hurt.

He got up at seven in the morning, well-rested and began to prepare for the day. Today, Crowley allowed himself to take a bit longer with getting dressed than he usually did. He wanted to make a good impression after all.

Granted, his clothes were barely visibly distinguishable from what he normally wore, but to Crowley it made all the difference. He had chosen a thin, comfortable grey sweater, which may or may not have been a bit tighter than what he usually went for, skinny jeans, some nice shoes and his best pair of gloves. 

Crowley owned three pairs of gloves that shielded his hands – the one he usually wore, long black ones that came up to his elbows; an emerald green set he had been given in the seventeenth century and had transformed accordingly, and a beautiful grey pair, the softest of the three. He chose the third one – it fit well and was probably the most comfortable item of clothing Crowley owned. The seam of the gloves was embellished with golden embroidery, a detail which never failed to amuse Crowley.

The demon checked twice if all his skin was sufficiently covered up, tugging at his sleeves more often than strictly necessary and then headed out, the bag with Aziraphale’s gift and the duck food firmly in hand.

He arrived fifteen minutes earlier than what they had agreed upon and used the time to wander around the pond, magically convincing a few ducks to join them later, wherever he and Aziraphale would sit. Luckily, the park was almost empty (something which Crowley had previously seen to) and the demon chose a bench with easy view on the pond. 

He let his eyes slip closed behind his sunglasses. He was nervous – he hadn’t interacted much with humans at all in the last few centuries and his small talk skills were rusty at best. Nevertheless, he convinced himself that it would be fine. He would enjoy their time spent together and Aziraphale would too, and it would be a marvellous, pleasant day. Hopefully. Probably. Maybe.

A shadow fell over Crowley and he opened his eyes quickly, sitting upright. Aziraphale was standing in front of him, a smile on his face and a bag of duck food in his hands.

“Hello, my dear. I do hope I didn’t scare you – you looked so peaceful just a minute ago.”

Crowley shook his head, his hair flying around him. Damn it. He had forgotten to tie it back.

“No worries, you didn’t. I was just, ah, I was just stretching my limbs.”

Aziraphale accepted that with a smile and sat down on the bench next to Crowley, far closer than the demon would have thought. He tugged at his shirt collar, trying to cover a bit more of his neck. Then he cleared his throat.

“I, ah, I’ve got something for you.” Crowley bent and picked up his bag, taking out the small figurine of the angel. He had gilded it this morning, and he had rarely enjoyed touching something without gloves more. The angel had become beautiful, his wings shining in the soft sunlight. Crowley handed the figurine to Aziraphale with a small cough and a blush rising on his cheeks. 

The man took it from Crowley with a smile, carefully holding the figurine.

“Oh, but you shouldn’t have! I didn’t get anything for you! It is beautiful, my dear. How fitting that it is an angel – I do have an... affinity to them.” Aziraphale sounded happy, his eyes twinkling with joy at the last sentence. “Thank you, Crowley. That was very sweet of you, my dear. And it’s such a beautiful colour, too. I don’t think I have ever seen a golden angel before.”

Crowley nodded and then shook his head, hoping his hair would hide his blush. 

“Ah, nonsense. I just saw it in a small shop nearby and for some reason I thought you would maybe enjoy it. So. I got it.”

Aziraphale cast a last glance at the figurine before putting it in his bag carefully.

“Well, it was very sweet of you. Don’t deny it.”

Crowley gave a laugh at that, leaning back, relaxing a bit more. Aziraphale had enjoyed his gift, which was good. It most certainly made this whole meeting a bit easier.

Next to him, Aziraphale unpacked his duck food, starting to throw some to the ducks which had gathered nearby, just like Crowley had told them to. The demon joined him and for the next half hour, the two of them sat on their bench, feeding the ducks and talking.

It was quite pleasant. Enjoyable, really. Crowley couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed himself that much. Talking to Aziraphale was so surprisingly simple. The man laughed a lot; he was easy to listen to and also listened to Crowley, paying attention to all his stories. Crowley had forgotten how nice it could be, talking to someone, spending time with them. He had isolated himself for the past few centuries and spending time with Aziraphale was, while at first a bit unfamiliar, a thoroughly pleasant experience.

After a while Aziraphale asked if they could take a walk through the park and Crowley complied, not willing to leave the other just yet. The sun shone warmly on them and Crowley performed a quick miracle to keep himself cool. He was a bit surprised that so far, Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned his unusual clothing. He had assumed that the human would do so at one point or another – after all it was the middle of summer and Crowley was dressed in a sweater and gloves. But it didn’t seem as if Aziraphale was going to say anything at all, which was just fine by Crowley.

They had just begun their third walk around the pond, Crowley in the middle of a story about how he had once had to fight off geese at a farm - the story was true, even though he had changed time (early nineteenth century) and place (Switzerland) just a little to make it more believable - when Aziraphale turned while walking, now facing Crowley. Then, he raised his hand.

“You’ve got something in your hair-“

“ _No!_ ”

Crowley had taken a quick step backwards, his rather loud exclamation drawing the attention of a few passer-by. Aziraphale stopped abruptly, movement aborted, his hand hanging in the air and his face half surprised, half confused.

Crowley took another step backwards, his heart hammering in his chest.

Fuck. Why had he shouted? Aziraphale seemed _hurt_ , his face still clouded by confusion. Damn it. But Crowley couldn’t have let him touch his hair, he couldn’t risk it. He didn’t know for sure if his hair also had the power to turn people, since the only things it usually touched were his clothes, which were transformation-proof anyway, and Crowley’s neck and shoulders, which couldn’t be transformed either. But Crowley was not about to find out whether his hair was affected by the curse too, not if it could effectively end Aziraphale’s life.

He tied his hair back quickly, facing Aziraphale again. The other man had apparently recovered from his shock, and now he was looking at Crowley with an apologetic and slightly guilty look on his face.

“I am sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to tell you that you’ve got a leaf in your hair.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley pulled the leaf out, letting it fall to the floor.

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have reacted so harshly. It’s just... I’m not used to people touching me.”

Crowley shuffled his feet refusing to look at Aziraphale. What would he say? Crowley was well aware that his behaviour wasn’t exactly _normal_ , and neither was his clothing. He was sure that Aziraphale must have a ton of questions about him as of now – after all, who wore a sweater and _gloves_ in the middle of an exceptionally hot summer day? And who in their right mind freaked out when someone wanted to touch their hair?

But Aziraphale did not ask Crowley any questions. Instead, he shrugged and smiled a little.

“That is alright, my dear. I won’t try and touch you again.”

Crowley nodded, mutely. Surely, Aziraphale was thinking of a way to excuse himself politely. Maybe he should offer him a way out, after all-

“Would you like to walk to the museum with me? There’s a rather interesting exhibition I’ve been told about, modern art, I think. If you’d like we can pay it a visit.”

Crowley looked up, surprised. Aziraphale was just standing there, a gentle look on his face, his hands firmly at his sides, the half-empty bag of duck food in his right one. He looked so peaceful, happy even, as if he had enjoyed their time spent together (never mind Crowley’s outburst) and was glowing from within.

Crowley hesitated for a second before he nodded. Because really, what other choice did he have but to agree? It wasn’t as if he were about to just _say no_ to spending more time with Aziraphale, after all.

\---

Aziraphale had been right – the museum was interesting. The two of them had spent almost three hours looking at the exhibition, comparing their views on various pieces of art. Aziraphale was much more generous with what he counted as ‘art’ than Crowley. The demon had heavily criticised some of the pieces, while Aziraphale had seemed to love each and every one of them.

They had stayed in the museum until Aziraphale had grown hungry and then, their ways had parted. Crowley had not wanted to endure another awkward meal where he sat by and watched Aziraphale eat, and he didn’t think that the other would enjoy it much, either. So he had provided the somewhat flimsy excuse of having to bring his car to the mechanic, and had gone home. But not before arranging another date (and when Aziraphale had called their next meeting a _date_ Crowley had done a double-take, before grinning so widely his cheeks still hurt) for the coming week.

This time, Aziraphale had decided on a location, choosing a bookfair that took place on Tuesday. Even though Crowley himself didn’t care much for books he had noticed that Aziraphale was definitely looking forward to it and he had agreed. There weren’t many dates the demon could go on, anyways – not being able to touch _anything_ unless he was covered from head to toe surely complicated things a bit.

But that didn’t matter, thought Crowley, who had been lying on his sofa ever since he had come home. It didn’t matter because he was about to have another date with Aziraphale and that was more than he had ever thought would happen.

////

“Do you have anything other to listen to than Queen?”

Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting in one of the only things Crowley had ever loved – his Bentley. It was almost dark, and they had just come back from their sixth date – a trip to theatre, where they had watched a reinterpretation of Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”. Aziraphale had picked it and enjoyed it tremendously. And even though Crowley usually wasn’t one for the theatre, he had found himself enjoying it more than he had expected - the reinterpretation was doubtlessly less confusing and tedious than the original and Aziraphale sitting right next to him for hours also hadn’t hurt.

Now, they were on their way back, almost at Aziraphale’s flat, and Aziraphale was fiddling with Crowley’s radio, desperately trying to make it play anything other than every Queen song ever written.

Crowley allowed himself a grin. He knew that wouldn’t work, after all.

“ ’M afraid not. Every CD I’ve got is by Queen and the radio doesn’t work properly anymore. Hasn’t for years.” (He neglected to mention that the radio hadn’t worked properly since 1933 and that while only a handful of his CDs were by Queen, all of them _played_ Queen. Aziraphale didn’t have to know _everything_ , after all.)

The man sighed and shook his head, leaning back in his seat. Crowley gave a small grin as he took a turn and came to a halt in front of the address Aziraphale had told him to drive to.

Only...

“Are you sure you gave me the right address? This is a bookshop, angel.” 

(After their third date, Crowley had taken to call Aziraphale ‘angel’, as a tribute to the figurine he had given him on their first date. For some reason, Aziraphale blushed whenever Crowley called him that, getting visibly fidgety. Crowley found it adorable and had kept the nickname.)

Now, however, Aziraphale didn’t blush. He merely laughed a bit, making to open the Bentley’s door.

“It is, my dear, but it also is my home. I own the bookshop and the flat above it.”

“ _You what?_ ”

Crowley got out of his car hastily, shutting the door behind him with a bang.

“You own a bookstore? Why did you never tell me? That is fantastic!”

 _Now_ Aziraphale blushed.

“Well, it never came up, and I didn’t think it was important. I don’t even sell most of my books. I am more of a collector than an actual shopkeeper, one could say.” 

Crowley stepped around his car, trying to get a good look at the building. It was a beautiful building and from what Crowley could make out through the windows, the shop was practically overflowing with books.

“Do you want to come in?”

Aziraphale was dangling his keys in front of Crowley, not quite looking the demon in the eyes. He gestured at the shop with one hand, running his fingers through his hair with the other. If Crowley hadn’t known any better, he would have said that Aziraphale looked _nervous_.

Crowley was nervous, too. He would have liked nothing more than to go inside with Aziraphale and spend some more time with him but he knew that if he were to do so, it would become much harder not to make the other suspicious. Hiding his curse was a lot more difficult when being in close proximity to someone else and Aziraphale would probably offer Crowley food and drink, which he would have to decline.

It would be hard not to make the other suspicious and it would also mean that Crowley would have to hold himself back with a lot of things – like touching Aziraphale, which he desperately wanted to do but hadn’t really dared to, even with the gloves. But it had been so long since Crowley had just let himself enjoy simple things, such as a relaxed evening with a ~~partner~~ friend without fear.

And after all, just going upstairs with Aziraphale couldn’t hurt, could it? Crowley had millennia worth of experience with getting himself out of difficult situations while not endangering anyone – he was sure he would manage one more evening with Aziraphale as well.

“I’d love to,” he told the human honestly, nodding his head in confirmation.

Aziraphale’s face lit up with a relieved smile and he walked past Crowley, unlocking the front door.

“I apologise if the bookshop is a bit messy. I don’t usually have many customers or visitors and rarely find the time to tidy up. But everything is clean, I assure you, and my rooms upstairs also aren’t as untidy as the shop.”

Crowley followed Aziraphale into the flat, his eyes needing a moment to adjust to the lights the other had switched on.

The bookshop was _huge_. Crowley rarely frequented bookstores but he was pretty sure that Aziraphale’s was far bigger than most others. Aziraphale had been right – it was messy, with books covering every surface available, stacked high on the table at the far end of the room and nearly spilling out of the many bookcases. But nevertheless, it was beautiful in a way Crowley rarely found rooms to be. The bookshop just screamed Aziraphale. Crowley could imagine him sitting at the table, reading until it was late at night, or shelving books, searching for lost ones and finding other treasures instead.

“Angel it’s _beautiful_. And very fitting, y’know? It feels as if the shop was made especially for you.”

Aziraphale chuckled at that, pushing some books out of the way as he walked to a door on his left. The kitchen, Crowley assumed. The stairs at the end of the room probably led to Aziraphale’s private rooms.

Crowley went to sit down on the sofa by a cosy-looking fireplace, stretching his legs in front of him. He let his eyes wander, taking in more of the room. On the table in by one of the shop’s windows, he spotted the small figurine he had given Aziraphale on their first date. It looked good, thought Crowley, standing next to a vase with red flowers.

Aziraphale entered the room with a tray filled with cookies and two cups of tea.

He sat down next to Crowley, putting the tray on the coffee table in front of them. Crowley watched Aziraphale lean back with a relaxed smile on his face, his hands folded behind his head.

“That was a rather lovely evening, wasn’t it?”

Aziraphale had closed his eyes while speaking, looking utterly at peace in his living room/bookshop. Crowley cast a quick second glance at him and took a cookie, letting it vanish. He would take his chance and act as if he were eating while Aziraphale wasn’t looking.

“Absolutely. I liked the reinterpretation, more than I thought I would. Was a lot easier to understand than the original.”

Aziraphale chuckled and sat up, taking a cookie for himself. He sipped on his tea while Crowley pretended to chew his own cookie, hoping that his mouth movements weren’t looking too forced. For a while, they sat in silence, Crowley enjoying Aziraphale’s presence near him. The other had sat back again, his head now closer to the demon’s shoulder and it would have been _so easy_ to just touch Aziraphale, to pet his head, maybe- 

“I was, uh, I was meaning to ask you something, my dear,” said Aziraphale, not looking up at Crowley. He seemed tense all of a sudden and Crowley couldn’t help but tense, too. Had Aziraphale noticed something? Had he realised that something was off about Crowley, had he become aware of how he avoided touching things, of how he was always keeping his body perfectly covered...?

“I wanted to ask you if you were willing to officially become my... partner, I’d say. Boyfriend sounds too juvenile and I don’t think you’d enjoy the term sweetheart much.” Crowley could hear a small smile in Aziraphale’s voice. That didn’t stop him from panicking, though. Aziraphale continued, oblivious to Crowley’s worries.

“So, since we’ve gone on quite a few dates now and we get along quite well, I just wanted to ask you if you wanted to make it official. I do hope I haven’t read this wrong. Oh dear, please do tell me if I’ve misunderstood this whole situation, I would never mean to make you uncomfortable because of me misinterpreting this.”

Aziraphale seemed so _worried_ , his whole body stiff, a small smile fixed on his face, but unable to look Crowley in the eyes. Crowley, for one, was very happy Aziraphale didn’t look at him- he doubted the man’s reaction to the panic on his face would have been all too positive.

Crowley didn’t answer right away, instead taking a moment (or many) to compose himself. Aziraphale’s question had caught him off guard. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to officially date the other man because he absolutely wanted to. Getting to know him better had been wonderful and Crowley had enjoyed every second of it. And, if he was completely honest, he had wished that their friendship would transform into something else, had hoped against hoping that he and Aziraphale would somehow, whether it be because of a miracle or a twist of fate, end up together.

He had wished that Aziraphale would want to make this into something official, something permanent, he had wished for it when lying in bed, when walking through the park, when driving to their next meeting. He had wished he were able to hold Aziraphale, hug Aziraphale and call him his partner.

But up until now, all those wishes had only been just that – wishes. Realistically, Crowley had known that all that would never happen. Because how could it?

He wasn’t able to _touch_ Aziraphale, for Satan’s sake, wasn’t able to hold him without his gloves and would never be able to dine with or kiss him. And he couldn’t even tell Aziraphale why, could never explain to him the curse that he was under, for if he did, Crowley would also have to tell him what exactly he was. And even though Crowley possessed a lot of imagination, he just couldn’t quite see a conversation with him telling his human partner that he was a demon going well.

But.

But.

Crowley had denied himself every bit of human contact for so long. Centuries upon centuries had gone by without him even being _friends_ with another person, much less having the possibility to date them.

And Crowley oh-so-desperately wanted to date Aziraphale, even if he could never touch him. Even if he would have to hide part of him for as long as their relationship lasted, even if he would never be able to hug or even kiss Aziraphale. But Crowley had denied himself his every wish for millennia, and after all, he was a demon. He was allowed to be selfish sometimes.

And therefore, because Crowley was dumb and stupid and reckless, he took Aziraphale’s hand in his, gathering all his courage.

“Yes,” he said, “I’d love to.”

Aziraphale’s bright, blinding smile almost made all of Crowley’s worries disappear.

Almost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry (slightly belated) Christmas / happy holidays!  
> Enjoy :)

Somehow, miraculously, it had all gone well so far. Two weeks had passed since they had officially entered their relationship, but due to Aziraphale’s – and Crowley’s – job having become a bit more time-consuming, the two of them hadn’t seen each other as often as Crowley would have liked to. They had talked a lot over the phone, but while this certainly was nice, it wasn’t as good as actually meeting Aziraphale in person.

But aside from missing him, not having seen Aziraphale for a while suited Crowley just fine. He had been busy with Hell lately – apparently, Heaven had done some Good Deeds on Earth recently and Crowley would have to tempt some humans to compensate that. 

Crowley had done so dutifully – he had convinced a kindergarten teacher to exclusively play Nickelback to their children, had managed to create one or two traffic jams and had convinced a very untalented young man that he should pursue his career as an actor. All in all, Crowley was quite happy with himself. And since he hadn’t heard anything from Hell recently, he figured that his superiors were also pleased.

Apparently, Aziraphale’s job had gotten less stressful, too – although Crowley couldn’t quite imagine what exactly would be so stressful about selling books – and they had managed to meet each other again, this time in Aziraphale’s flat.

They had agreed to meet just after lunch which suited Crowley just fine, as it meant that he would have a good excuse for why he was not eating anything. He was excited to spend some more time with Aziraphale, and in his flat no less. He deliberately ignored the fact that it would be harder to hide his curse there, just like he had done the first time. Crowley also ignored the fact that Aziraphale would probably want to kiss him, even though the mere thought of it made his stomach clench uncomfortably because of the danger he’d put Aziraphale in - but also made his heart flutter in excitement because well, he also wanted to kiss Aziraphale.

Crowley had had the foresight to ask his friend if they could take things slow in their relationship and to his surprise, Aziraphale had agreed. Crowley just wasn’t sure if he would also be fine with not kissing or even really hugging Crowley on their next date, especially since it was in the privacy of Aziraphale’s home, no less. Well. At least Crowley wouldn’t stay over. That certainly made things a little easier. 

Right now, he was standing in front of the bookshop’s doors, trying to gather the courage to ring the bell. He was unbelievably nervous and had taken more care with dressing that he had in years. He was wearing what he usually wore, only with longer socks to protect is ankles and he had chosen a turtleneck to cover up as much skin as possible. He had even taken a jacket with him. There was also a second pair of gloves crammed hastily into Crowley’s pockets (which he may or may not have made a little bigger with the help of a small miracle) and a second pair of sunglasses would be easy enough to conjure, if needed.

Crowley took one last deep breath before he rang the bell, waiting for Aziraphale to open the door. He could do this. They would enjoy their time together and Crowley wouldn’t accidentally kill his partner by turning him into gold.

\----

The first thing Crowley noticed was that the bookshop was certainly a lot tidier than when he had last visited it. The shelves seemed better organised and not every surface available was covered by books anymore. Aziraphale himself seemed to have taken greater care with his appearance, too. He was dressed in a somewhat more elegant suit (although it also had definitely gone out of fashion a long time ago) and Crowley thought that he had styled his hair, which was definitely unusual.

“Come in, come in,” said Aziraphale, although Crowley was already standing in the flat. He buzzed around the demon, taking his jacket and hanging it up, only to lead Crowley to the sofa the next moment.

“I missed you,” said Aziraphale after the both of them had sat down on his sofa in front of he lit fireplace. He was adorably blunt about that, which was impressive to Crowley, wo would usually prefer to bite off his own tongue of rather than talk about hi emotions so candidly. 

“Aw, angel,” made Crowley, “I’ve missed you, too. Phone calls just cannot compete.”

Aziraphale smiled at that and scooted a bit closer. He raised his eyebrow as if to ask if it was okay, and Crowley nodded, ignoring the clenching of his insides. He was wearing a fucking _turtleneck_ for Satan’s sake, Aziraphale would be fine. Slowly, the human lowered his head on Crowley’s shoulder, throwing another glance at Crowley to make sure that this was still okay. The demon gave a weak smile.

He assumed that Aziraphale still remembered his words from their first date – that he wasn’t used to touching people. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but Crowley was sure that he would be a lot more relaxed if not being used to closeness was his only problem. 

He was still tense. Aziraphale had just _touched him_ , in fact he was _still_ touching him. It was glorious and pure torture because Crowley was still very much aware of the fact that with one wrong movement, he could easily kill his partner.

Aziraphale however, was blissfully unaware of that particular problem, as he snuggled a bit closer still, starting to talk about the last two weeks and all the customers he had had.

Slowly, Crowley felt himself relax. It was fine. Fine. He wouldn’t kill Aziraphale and everything was fine. He closed his eyes and just listened to Aziraphale talk.  
He had a nice voice, noted Crowley, and was good at telling a story. He made small jokes during, explained everything well and was capturing the demon’s attention. Crowley had missed this. Being able to just sit and exist with another person, listen to them, being close to them, letting them play with his hair-

Wait.

Crowley shot up, jolting Aziraphale in the progress. His hands came flying up to his hair, finding it untied and slightly out of place. Where earlier there had been a neat half-bun keeping his hair in check, there now was nothing and strands of his hair hung freely in his face. Strands of his hair which Aziraphale had toyed with.

“I am so, _so_ sorry, my dear! I didn’t even notice! I was just, well, caught up in the story and didn’t notice I was playing with your hair. I am sorry, I know you told me you don’t like people touching it.”

Aziraphale looked miserable, a guilty look on his face. He was chewing on his bottom lip, clenching his hands in his lap.

Crowley’s heart was still hammering in his chest, his breath still going too quick. Aziraphale had touched his hair. His hair, which could potentially have transformed him into a block of gold.  
But it hadn’t, thought Crowley, it hadn’t and his friend was fine. Aziraphale was alive and well, touching Crowley’s hair had not turned him into gold, he was _fine_.

“It’s-,” managed Crowley before he broke off, his breathing still too laboured to form comprehensible sentences.

He had been so _careful_ , dammit. He had been so careful not to let Aziraphale touch him, his skin, but he hadn’t even noticed that he had touched his hair. He had not even noticed...

He was lucky, Crowley realised, so incredibly lucky that Aziraphale had only touched his hair and nothing else. If he had touched his cheek or neck, if his hand had brushed against Crowley’s _ear_ , for fucks sake, Crowley would be sitting next to a block of gold right now.

He tried again.

“It’s… fine. I mean. Nothing happened, it isn’t fine, but nothing happened. It’s fine.”

Aziraphale still looked guilty and by now, about ready to bolt. He had put distance between him and Crowley, his body carefully angled away from the demon.

“Really, angel, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it and as I told you, I’m not really used to people touching me, so I freaked out a little. It’s not your fault. It’s fine.”

Crowley attempted a weak smile. Aziraphale nodded, his brow still furrowed. He looked _sad_ and Crowley cursed himself for ruining what should have been a relaxed, enjoyable evening.

“I still want to apologise, dear. You told me not to touch your hair and I didn’t listen. I’m sorry.”

Crowley shrugged.

“I forgive you. You obviously didn’t do it on purpose, and I must say it felt... nice. Somehow. I was just surprised by it, which is the reason I reacted the way I did.”

Aziraphale nodded once more, now slowly relaxing.

“Would you continue your story?” asked Crowley. “You’re good at telling stories. And,” he added after a short pause, “please come here again. You’re a bit far away.”

Aziraphale complied, sitting closer to Crowley, but not as close as he had been earlier. He resumed talking, finding back to his rhythm easily. After some minutes, Aziraphale relaxed again, body subconsciously leaning toward Crowley. Crowley relaxed, too, at least a little. It was fine. Aziraphale was alive, Crowley hadn’t killed him. It was fine.

And actually, thought Crowley absent-mindedly, Aziraphale toying with his hair had felt kind of nice. Like a massage, almost.

\----

Aziraphale had kept a bit of distance during his story and got up as soon as he had finished it. He told Crowley to wait on the sofa while he vanished behind some bookcases, where he was looking for something, judging from the sounds he emitted.

Apparently, he had found it because Crowley could hear a soft, successful “Ha!” before Aziraphale came back to the sofa, a small book in his hands.

“This is for you,” he said, handing it to Crowley. “You mentioned once that you liked plants, so when I got my next delivery of books, I kept that one especially for you.”

Crowley took it with a smile, holding it carefully. He could not remember the last time he had been given a gift by anyone, much less one this thoughtful.

“Oh, but you didn’t have to, angel! That’s very sweet of you.” 

Aziraphale nodded, a small smile on his lips.

“I know, but I wanted to. See it as a thank-you gift for the angel you gave me.”

Crowley opened the book, leafing through the pages. It was an encyclopaedia on plants, each entry complete with a beautiful, small drawing of the matching plant. The drawings were incredibly detailed, and the texts gave a good summary on how to care for each plant.

Crowley loved it.

He looked up at Aziraphale, who was still standing in front of the sofa, hands clasped behind his back, smiling a little.

Crowley stood up, as if his legs were acting on his own accord. His hands were too, apparently, because somehow, they ended up on Aziraphale’s shoulders and _touched_ him, squeezing, if just for a quick moment.

“Thank you, angel,” mumbled Crowley as he stepped away from him. He felt dizzy from all the touching had been done in the past few minutes and maybe, just maybe there were tears in his eyes because of Aziraphale’s gift.

Aziraphale simply nodded, his cheeks slightly flushed from the hug, and cleared his throat.

“Well, I’m happy you liked it. If you want to, we can read for a while now? You could read your book and I have been meaning to re-read some first editions for some time anyway.”

Crowley agreed, finding himself unable to do much else, still overwhelmed from what he had dared to do. He had _touched_ Aziraphale, as if it had been nothing.  
He could still feel the angel’s shoulders under his hands, remembered the way his fingers had squeezed them, just for a moment.

Crowley sat down on the sofa again, a bit closer to Aziraphale now, and opened his book.  
He would find out whether he could concentrate on reading instead of replaying the past few minutes over and over again in his head.   
\---  
Crowley did not know how much time had passed when Aziraphale shifted next to him, closing his book. Crowley himself had been immersed in the encyclopaedia, reading the entries chronologically, and he had stumbled across surprisingly many new facts. Apparently, not even he knew everything about plants.

Next to him, Aziraphale stretched, yawning.

“Did you enjoy your book? If you’d like, you can continue reading, of course, but it is getting rather late and I wanted to ask if you would like to stay the night.”

Crowley’s head shot up. Apparently, his face betrayed his emotions (panic and more panic) because Aziraphale quickly backtracked, his cheeks flushed.

“Without any ulterior motives, of course! I meant that if you would want to, you can stay the night and sleep. Alone. Well, not alone because I only have one bed, but we can sleep - just sleep. If you would like to.”

Had he not been so panicked, Crowley surely would have enjoyed seeing Aziraphale stumble over his words, but as it was, he did not. It was not that he _didn’t_ want to stay the night, because he absolutely did. It was just that, as with everything else, his... gift kept him from doing that.

Coming here to spend the evening had been difficult enough and he had prepared carefully. And so far, it had paid off – Crowley had not transformed anything at all, the incident with his hair had by some strange miracle gone well, and he had even dared touching Aziraphale. Everything had gone splendidly so far and to be honest, Crowley did not want to have to leave Aziraphale just yet.

But on the other hand, the longer he stayed, the greater was the chance that he let his guard down. And that just could not happen.

And, reasoned Crowley, even if he _did_ stay the night, how would he ever begin to explain to Aziraphale that he had to sleep in his street wear? And on the couch, preferably? How would he come up with an acceptable excuse as to why he would sleep in his shoes and turtleneck while wearing his _sunglasses_? Or that he would neither eat dinner nor breakfast? By now, Aziraphale surely must think that Crowley did have some serious allergies or another problem with food and drink.

No. No matter how much he wanted to, Crowley couldn’t stay. He could not risk revealing his secret by accidentally transforming anything in the flat or even Aziraphale himself. The risk that he would accidentally touch his partner in his sleep was just too high and the only other option was not sleeping at all, which Crowley also was not all too comfortable with. There was just something extremely creepy about sitting wide awake next to your sleeping partner the whole night.

“I’m sorry, angel, but I can’t. I... Hell, I can’t even give you a reasonable explanation, but I just can’t. It has nothing to do with you, I swear. Please forget I ever said that sentence, it sounds terrible. But it’s true – I would love to stay over but I- I’m afraid I simply can’t. And I can’t even tell you the reasons for it.”

Crowley avoided Aziraphale’s eyes, instead concentrating on the book in his hands. This was surely not what Aziraphale had expected or wanted when they had first started dating. He wouldn’t be surprised if he decided here and now that he would no longer put up with Crowley’s idiocy, that he would demand reasons or simply break this off. Crowley wouldn’t even be able to blame him. After all, he set ridiculous restrictions for the both of them without ever explaining why. If he were Aziraphale, he probably would already have gotten sick of himself by now.

“Oh Crowley, it’s no problem love. You don’t have to apologise, if you do not want to stay over, you can simply say so. I’m not mad. Of course, I would have loved for you to sleep here, but we have all the time in the world, and I do not want to push you. I understand if you’re uncomfortable with your scars-“ 

Aziraphale broke off in the middle of his sentence, clasping his hand over his mouth as if he could somehow push his words back.

Words, which Crowley did not understand in the least. Scars? What scars? When had he ever said anything about scars to Aziraphale-?

“What scars?”

The words were out of Crowley’s mouth a second too soon. As soon as he had closed his mouth, Crowley understood. And cursed himself three times to Heaven.  
Aziraphale had given him the perfect excuse as for why he always kept so much of himself covered, for why he didn’t like being touched, had given him the perfect excuse for _everything_ , and had he had gone and fucked it up. Once again.

For a second, Crowley thought about acting as if he had joked, acting as if he did indeed have scars he was ashamed of, but realistically he knew that it wouldn’t be possible. There already was a small frown on Aziraphale’s face, the tell-tale sign that he was thinking something over carefully. Crowley didn’t stand a chance, he knew that.

“What do you mean, ‘which scars’? I... I was under the impression that was the reason why you covered yourself up and all that. I thought that you’d been in an accident of some sorts and try to hide your scars from that. Which of course would have been perfectly fine! But...” Aziraphale’s frown deepened, “if that is not the reason, what is it?”

He watched Crowley carefully, head tilted slightly, as if he could solve the mystery just by looking at him. Crowley strongly hoped he couldn’t.

“I...”

Crowley trailed off. Aziraphale was still looking at him quizzically, trying to figure out his secrets, trying to discover what Crowley had kept hidden for millennia. If he did, Crowley knew that Aziraphale wasn’t only going to discover that Crowley could kill him without so much as brushing up against him, but also what exactly Crowley was.  
A demon. A cursed, rotten demon who did not deserve being loved by anyone, much less by someone as wonderful as Aziraphale.

The thought alone made Crowley’s stomach sink. That could not happen; he could not let it happen. Before he knew it, he had pushed himself off the couch, standing up, grabbing his book.

“I- I have to- I have to go.”

He crossed the living room quickly, ignoring Aziraphale’s surprised, confused “What?” He was already halfway out the front door, when the other man caught up to him, looking unbearably lost and hurt, his hand running through his hair.

“What did I do wrong? Crowley, I didn’t mean to offend you! We don’t have to talk about it, love; you don’t have to stay over! You can leave; of course you can, but please, tell me what I did wrong.”

His brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s fine that you do not want to be touched and I’m sorry about the thing with the scars. But please, just stay so that we can talk about it!”

Crowley finally opened the door, having fumbled with the handle for far too long. He threw a quick glance at Aziraphale, mouth already halfway open to say something – a mumbled excuse maybe, an apology of some sorts, _anything_ \- when Aziraphale took a step forward, his hand reaching out to Crowley.

Crowley flinched back as if he had been burned.

_”Don’t”!_

He took a quick, stumbling step backwards, almost tripping over his feet. “Don’t,” he repeated, his voice flat and emotionless.

Then, he shut the door with a bang, catching a last glimpse of Aziraphale’s hurt, bewildered face.

**Author's Note:**

> A song that lyrically fits the theme of this story quite well is "Gold" by Imagine Dragons :)  
> A poem that fits is "Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost. (That's also where the title came from).


End file.
